


Green As It Grows

by significantowl



Category: Jane Eyre - Charlotte Brontë
Genre: F/M, Married Sex, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane and Edward in the garden by moonlight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green As It Grows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [judyparker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/judyparker/gifts).



> Happy holidays, judyparker! I couldn't manage the AU from your optional details, I'm sorry, but I hope you enjoy this!

"What is this scent, Jane? I do not recognise it; it did not exist at Thornfield."

I knew at once of what Edward spoke. “It is moonflower,” I said. “One of the particular pleasures of the night-time garden." The fragrance was as sweet as it was ethereal; the moonflower’s white petals would fold with the first touch of the morning sun, becoming plain in the harshness of day, all secrets held close and quiet until the moon rose again.

"Indeed," said Edward, inhaling more strongly, casting his head left and right in search of the source. I bent and plucked a blossom for him, gentler and surer than he could hope to be; I held it to his nose and watched his lips curve as he breathed again. Then he loosened his hand from where it clapst my arm, as often it did on these garden strolls, and took the flower from me. Fingertips seeking through the air for a moment, he found my temple and slid the bloom into my hair; with a kiss upon my brow, he said: "Pleasure upon pleasure; now that is my idea of Heaven."

"Yours is an unholy catechism, sir. I feel it my duty to advise you thusly."

"Do so, yes! Advise me in all things, and I will be happy in all things.”

“You flatter.”

“I do not. I allow for the very real possibility that I will be bewitched so, but that is of no matter. Bewitched yet content I will be."

I knew that when Edward was at his most fanciful, he was often at his most sincere. However, as we resumed our stroll, I had to wonder if at least in one regard, I had stolen a measure of contentment from him. Was there a hollowness to the enjoyment of these gardens, when his mind's eye could hold no true image of their beauty? We moved now through a realm of my design; when I had become mistress of the manor, Ferndean had boasted no gardens, indeed, nothing more than a small scrabbled patch of treeless ground. I could have chosen to recreate the ornamental plots of Thornfield, lost now to the wildness of moss and moor. I had not. I asked my husband if he minded.

"Do I mind!" Edward's voice was a thunder-crack in the night. "I should say not. I walk through wonders my witch-wife has coaxed from the earth for me, and that is a true delight; even better, I am fortunate enough to have the spellcaster as my guide. She describes to me what she will, and of the rest I am free to dream: clambering vines and graceful branches hanging low over beds filled with blooms of every colour and description, all sweet, all fresh."

I was quiet for a moment, walking at his side. It was hard not to be touched warm by his words, and yet - he spoke of things that did not exist. I could not truly smile without knowing that reality also made him glad.

Not sensing my mood - or possibly doing so and being most contrary about it - Edward began counting aloud; I did not realise he was counting steps, for a time, until he drew me to a bench nestled into the wall. "There, you see," Edward said. "Fifteen paces along the brick walk, and my wife has built a place for us. Cascaded with roses, I should imagine, pale and lovely - and like all pale and lovely things, with thorns."

The arbor overhead held nothing but plain green-leafed ivy. I made clear upon this point.

“You misunderstand, my Janet,” said he. “It is not that I seek joy untethered in the world's truth; I may have made that mistake in the past, but do so no more.” He did not slip an arm about my waist, could not, as I sat to his injured side, but instead pressed instead his shoulder to mine. “I seek joy through trust in your hands, and your heart, and your mind, and where I seek, I find.”

A sudden warmth bloomed where before had been a chill. I kissed him to share it, and it rose sweetly between us; I cradled his cheeks in my hands, letting his days’ growth of whiskers scratch pleasantly against my palms. We might well be at our best when we prickled each other, and I enjoyed the reminder of it. 

Edward reached over me to tighten his hand at my hip, and then slid along my skirts, lifting my legs to drape over his. I was tucked quite firmly against him, and happy there; his lips travelled down from to my ear, then to my neck, spreading heat but not, perhaps, common sense.

“We are in view of the house, husband,” I said. “The ivy has not grown so thick as to hide us from sight.”

“You think yourself reasonable!” Edward lifted his head with this shout, but returned straightaway to my skin; his words thereafter were muffled, but I felt their every shape. “People who look out of windows into the blackness of night are not in search of innocence,” he murmured. “They chase the lurid,” his mouth slipped lower, “the fantastical,” and lower still, “why should we not give it to them?”

Reasons abounded - I enjoyed being able to look my housekeeper in the eye of a morning, for one - but it was easy to let them dissolve into the night like so much smoke. Our first meeting had been in a lane at twilight, our first kiss under a clouded moon; such a place, such an hour, such a darkened world would always be ours. I bent my head and let breath flow over Edward’s nape; he shivered before I let my lips follow, touching just above his collar.

“She agrees with me but does not deign to speak it,” Edward mused, directing his words to the leaves above. “How very like my Jane.”

I kissed his mouth, a most pleasant way to stopper it. His grip upon my waist grew painfully tight, and I curled my fingers around his neck in steadying counterpoint. His tongue stroked firmly against my own, and soon my blood responded to the rhythm; it was hypnotic, and it was rising.

I drew back to catch my breath. Edward refused pause; he slid downward again, kissing along my neck until his progress was thwarted by the linen of my dress. He took the trim of it in his teeth, pulled, then grunted. “We must engage a new seamstress, Jane. Whatever dressmaker you are using is wantonly putting fabric to waste; gowns exist that are kinder to man and more sparing of cloth, I am certain of it. The world cannot have changed so much since I have been without sight.”

“If you would like me to loosen a button or two, you need only say so.”

“Then I say loosen them, damn you, loosen them, before I tear them asunder.”

I did so, not quickly, but with a patience built on the pleasure inherent in delay. As I slipped each tiny pearl-white button free - too small for Edward to do himself with any grace, now, with only the fingers of one hand to address the task - he parted each inch of my gown with his nose and traced the bared skin with his lips, dipping beneath my chemise, sharing his delight as the slope of my decolletage rose with the slight swell of my breast. He tilted his head, following the soft curve, and my back arched, a bow cast just for him.

Encouraged, Edward drew his hand from my hip and slid it around the front of my dress, bearing down into the valley there; I rocked forward into that pressure, and let my own hands begin to wander. His strong chest was firm and beloved beneath my fingertips, and I slid my hands along his waistcoat, down the ladder of his ribs. I explored right down to the hard centre of him; I took hold of him, thick fabric of his trousers adding to the weight in my hand, and his breath escaped him, gusting in my ear. I stroked with my thumb; he leapt under my touch. I did it again.

Edward’s hand slid away, leaving me wanting, but I had only a moment to frown. He pulled my skirts high and let his hand travel beneath them, my breath coming short as his fingers moved higher and higher. My underlinens were still between us, but I could feel the pads of his fingers quite distinctly as rubbed up and down, each movement slow and measured.

There was one button yet that I had interest in working. Alighting upon it, I twisted deftly, and so parted the placket of my husband’s trousers. I took him in hand once more, and with one sure stroke he rose up before me, plainly distending his underthings. It should have caused me to blush, seeing him so in the open moonlight, as feeling the cool evening air on my bared skin should also have done. But there was no judgement here amongst the calls of the night insects and the sweet, ripe blooms. We were part of the night; we were as natural as anything that grew in this space, that sprang from soil and took in air and water. 

I settled into a deliberate pace, a steady counterpoint to that which Edward had set for me. There were darkened spots upon his undergarments, from where they had been streaked with wet; I knew, too, that my own had grown slick. His fingers slipped easily now, and I leaned into his hand, chasing every inch of his touch. I imagined it might be a point of pride for Edward that he could ply me so cleverly; it was something he had only ever learned to do with the use of one hand, and only without sight; he did it well, very well. He was unhurried, sometimes using only one strong finger, sometimes adding the pressure of another; by turns he would lighten his touch, circling quickly with a fingertip before resuming that studied pace once more.

I drew his shaft out fully from beneath his clothing. He was hot in my hand, and I pressed his length hard against his stomach, trapping him as soundly as my small hand could manage. I pressed my thumb to his tip and did not stroke, but simply held him there, feeling him twitch fretfully between my fingertips. 

"Stand," Edward breathed. "Stand, and face me."

I did so. Beneath my skirts, he slid my underlinens low.

"And now sit," he directed, and I complied yet again; my legs fell to either side of his hips, and his shaft pressed against me, skin to skin. His hips rocked upwards, and I reached for him; I guided him into me and left my hand there a moment, at the root of him, tracing where we were joined. He had called himself a lightning-struck tree, once, and me the woodbine clinging to his decay. I had proclaimed him green and vigorous instead, and here was the deepest, most natural proof of that. He within, I twined without - together we were always at our most vital. 

I moved my hands upwards now, unfastening his waistcoat and shirt, wishing to press lips to skin, while Edward moved to work his fingers against me again as his hips rose and fell. I loved it, being stroked inside and out; I loved it even more when his hips stilled, when he breathed savagely at my neck, clearly composing himself, determined as always to last longer than I.

I did not have to make that easy for him. I squeezed around him, then moved my own hips up and down, dragging slowly and pleasantly along his length. When I stilled, I felt him pulse, uncontrolled, thickening inside me.

"Witch," Edward whispered against my neck, and then his mouth travelled down, and down; in a flush of heat, I pushed hastily free of my corset, fully baring my chest. The cool evening air was brushed against me for a brief, thrilling moment before Edward’s hot, wet mouth found the tight peak of my breast. His tongue worked in rhythm with his fingers, and I played my own part, clenching tightly to measure his every thrust.

When the pressure building between us shattered, we had the wide world as our witness: the sky, the vaulted trees, the flowers that blossomed, the things that flew and crawled. We had no cause to mind. We breathed there amongst them, skin to skin, heart to heart, taking in the sweetness of the night.


End file.
